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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954089">What am I doing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemoglobintime/pseuds/hemoglobintime'>hemoglobintime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BrainPOP</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, But maybe not, Friends to Lovers, M/M, MiM - Freeform, Multi, My immortal inspired, Other, alarm clock to lovers, but moby is a robot, ngl the setting is based on my high school, they might not end up together, tim has daddy issues, tim is hot for hank green, tim is in love with moby, tim/moby - Freeform, toby - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:43:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954089</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemoglobintime/pseuds/hemoglobintime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is a human. Moby is a 1600-year-old robot with no emotions. Will they fall in love? Not even I know.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim/Moby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What am I doing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AN: I'm sorry, I started this during quarantine because I was bored and lonely and this is what my brain came up with but now I've gotten invested and much too deep into BrainPOP lore and have like half of a plot laid out and I'm sorry but I'm committing to this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hi, I’m Tim. You may remember me from BrainPOP. I was the teenage boy who made science videos for children? Yeah that’s me. The whole reason I did that was because I spent too much time watching SciShow as a child and I thought of Hank Green as a father figure. I simultaneously wanted to be him and be railed by him, or maybe I just wanted to be praised by him. I’ve actually concluded that I’m robosexual (only attracted to robots), but I’m gay for Hank Green. He’s making some very sexy TikToks these days. I think being told not to eat things is my kink. </p><p>Now I’m depressed because my days of being a tiny teenage science child are over. I’m one of those insufferable people who say they have “gifted kid burnout”. I would love to tell myself to shut up because we all know that’s annoying as fuck. Oh, school came easy to you and you got special treatment because of it? Now you’ve found out you’re not actually special and you’re going to act like a little piss baby? Stop bragging about having a high school reading level in fourth grade Tim, nobody cares. </p><p>Hypothetically, for the sake of argument, let’s say I was born and raised in Arkansas and I’m now going to college in Arkansas because I turned out to be deeply average and there was no way I was ever going to make it out of the state, even though that was my dream and I made every effort to go to college anywhere that wasn’t Arkansas. At least I get to go to college I suppose. I’m very apathetic about the whole affair, I kind of want to die because like I said I’m depressed or something. Whatever though. I said I wanted to be a scientist so I guess I’m going to try to be a scientist.</p><p>I’m staring at the ceiling of my dorm room in the dark, thinking about death when I hear a quiet “ding!” from the other side of the room. Moby is finished charging. He’s got one of those charging stations like Baymax had in Big Hero 6, except it’s shaped like a bed and Moby’s feet sort of plug into the footboard. I look over as his eyes illuminate and the little lights on his chest start to glow. I can almost feel the oxytocin and whatever other happy chemicals there are flooding my brain, and I get the wonderful floating feeling I only get when I see his cold, dead robot eyes light up when he’s powering on. If only he could feel it back.</p><p> I found Moby smoldering in a crater while I was out wandering the wastelands as a child, and we have been best friends ever since. He was either built by aliens or possibly Leonardo DaVinci, but nobody really knows. His Wikipedia page is very unclear. Anyway, my parents adopted him I think. I’m not sure if they think of him as a son or as some sort of appliance, maybe a vacuum or coffee maker or something along those lines, but now he’s my roommate. I don’t think he pays tuition, but he does manage to get better grades than me in every class. I think I might be attracted to that too. Stupid robot.</p><p>I realize I’ve been gazing at Moby a bit too long when his loud vocalisation breaks me from my stupor.</p><p>“BEEEEEEP!” </p><p>Moby doesn’t speak like a normal human. He just beeps and the people around him understand. Maybe it's telepathy. Maybe it’s Maybelline. Who cares.</p><p>His first beep of the day is his usual morning greeting. <i>“It is seven-thirty AM, January 12th 2021. It’s time to wake up. Good morning Tim!”</i></p><p>“Thank you Moby.” I say, rubbing my eyes as Moby extends one of his arms to the far side of the room and flicks on the light switch. This is how our mornings have begun since classes started last fall. Moby’s internal alarm clock wakes me up at seven-thirty each day, and I scramble to get ready for my classes. Moby doesn’t need to prepare the same way I do, so he typically remains plugged into his charger, occasionally using one of his whirring gadgets to ease my way by laying out my clothes or finding my shoes while I throw my books into a bag. It’s these tiny little acts of what would be identified in another human as kindness that send a pang through my chest. I’m headed for the door when Moby taps my shoulder. I turn around to face him and feel his heated metallic hands graze the sides of my face as he hooks a mask around my ears. Right, the pandemic is still a thing in this universe.</p><p>I enter the Science Building where I am majoring in Science. I sneak a look inside the physics lab while running past it, and see the girl who lives across the hall from me, Aurora. She says she wants to be a physicist but keeps failing all her physics classes. She doesn’t even like physics. I know this because I can hear her from across the hall, constantly crying on the phone about how much she hates physics. When it gets really bad, she gets Taco Bell. She gets Taco Bell often. The smell wafts over to my room and I try to complain about it to Moby, but Moby doesn’t eat and is overall very unsympathetic to the inconveniences that come with various bodily functions. Once I pissed myself while Moby was chauffeuring me across the state because he wouldn’t stop for me to pee at a gas station. Anyway, whenever I hear anyone talk about physics, I smell Taco Bell. I blame Aurora.</p><p>My first class of the day is Science. So is my second class. And third class. And all the rest of my classes. Also, I’m in French. Today, I’m late. Moby speeds up, rollerblades popping out of his feet once we clear the stairs, and leaves me in the dust.</p><p>“Moby, wait!” I shout as his shiny orange plating disappears around a corner. Sometimes when we’re late for something Moby will give me a piggyback ride so we can get there a little faster. Doesn’t look like that’s happening today though.</p><p>
  <i>Sorry Tim, we have a long day of classes ahead, and carrying you saps my power, and I can’t spend all my time waiting behind for you either. I must arrive on time. You understand.</i>
</p><p>I bend over to catch my breath, clutching a stitch in my side. We were supposed to be best friends. I had believed we were best friends until late high school, before we went to college. We had made BrainPOP together, and at the time it felt like the coolest thing in the world. It’s my own fault for thinking it would last forever. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him. Even if he could feel like humans do, I don’t think I could hold it against him. It doesn’t make it hurt any less though. </p><p>Already late, I walk into the Science room and see my favorite professor, Dr. Ash. He’s about a million years old and an asshole a lot of the time, but he’s also the perfect eccentric professor that you see in about a million science fiction novels and coming of age stories, so I can’t really complain. He’s good plot material, baby. He’s holding some kind of beepy boopy chunk of metal in his hand that gives off big plot device vibes. </p><p>“Tim, I’m glad you could make it to class today. Moby told me you might be late.” Dr. Ash says. </p><p>I glance over at Moby. “Yeah Moby, thanks for letting him know.” I doubt he picks up on the sarcasm in my voice. He's already laser-focused on a new task over on the other side of the room, loading some other gadgets into a box and marking things off on a list.</p><p>Dr. Ash waves it away and starts toward the door, beckoning for me to follow. “Moby, join us when you’re done. Be quick about it.”</p><p>I follow Dr. Ash out and down the hallway to another door. He takes a key from his pocket and slides it into the lock. Suddenly, he stops and makes eye contact with me.</p><p>“Now, what I’m about to show you cannot leave this room.”</p><p>I nod. He pushes the door open.</p><p>The room is empty except for an object about the size of a picnic table obscured by a tarp, and from beneath the tarp, there is a green light. Not like in Gatsby though, more like when you shine a flashlight through a Mountain Dew bottle. Or as I like to call it, Gamer Juice. That’s right, I’m a gamer</p>
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